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"All men are enemies. All animals are comrades."
George Orwell, Animal Farm

This month's theme is "Confliction"! For this theme, a character in your entry must go through a conflict, a fight against something. Internal or external conflict, it matters not.

Entries! (March 1-15)

For the first two weeks of the competition, all entrants may post their draft entries on this page and receive suggestions and criticism without any consequences. Nothing posted during this entry period will be taken as your final entry. Constant posting of small edits and similar drafts are frowned against, as it clutters up the pages and gets in the way of other entries.

By 11:59:59 PM of February 14th, you must post your final entry on this page with the words: "Final Entry" included in large bold letters included after your entry. If you've already posted a draft and edited it from there, please re-post your final entry as a new post. This makes it easier to find and organize.
The time zone being used here is Pacific Standard Time (PST). Use this counter to see how much time you have left.

This will become your entry for the month, and can no longer be edited - no exceptions! Be very sure to proofread and edit your entry completely before taking this final step. To emphasize, only write Final Entry on your piece once you're 100% sure it is perfect. Once you write those bold words on your project, your entry will be taken "as is" at that point and no further editing will be allowed.

My first entry! Took a few days because I couldn't think of anything>.>

Spoiler for One Man:

One Man

Decline

"I'm just one man, what can I do?" The man was deep in thought, despite his laboured breathing.

"WHAT THE HELL!" he suddenly screamed, as he tore the tender flesh off his knuckles on the nearby steel railing. Spectators on the same sidewalk scurried by, shocked by the sight that unfolded before them.

Many gaze upon the troubled man, yet none stop to ease his pain. They simply keep on walking, dragging the man's last hopes with them.

"Mommy, what is that man doing?"
"Sssh, don't look at him! Come now, just keep walking."

When the screaming subsided, the one man realized that nobody would become wary of his desperate pleas. If only one man would step forth, only one...

Desperation

"You...bloody...cruel...world."
Oh, how differently the one man viewed the world now; it was somewhat ironic. It had only been 3 months ago when he knew true happiness.

~~~~~~~~~
"I-It's a girl! She looks like an angel!" cried the man, as he held the new member of his family. Turning his head to face his beautiful wife, he couldn't be more thankful that they were all together. "I'm the luckiest man alive, you know that?" he had said.
~~~~~~~~~

And the irony of those words had sunk in. He wasn't the luckiest man alive; it was simply a moment of bliss. Bellowing a sick laugh, he slumped down into his own pool of blood, which still flowed freshly from his open wound. At that exact moment, the sirens of an ambulance could be heard; it would only be a few more clicks before the man would be whisked away for treatment and incarceration.

Demolition

"S-Stay back, you bastards!" he cried. Following standard procedure, the medical team did not halt their progression on the one man. There was no choice left for the man.

And in the span of 3 seconds, the trauma team was on the floor. "WE NEED BACKUP! PATIENT IS ARMED AND DANGEROUS!"

Laughing in a sick tone once again, the one man began to step backwards in a trance. Once he had stepped over the obstructive railing, he held his balance and pointed the firearm at his own temple.

"YOU WANT TO HELP ME NOW?! AFTER I rend the flesh off of my skin, AFTER I lose everything, and AFTER I faced rejection from all who gazed at my situation. After...I lost...everything."

That was when the one man reminisced upon his tragedy, his undoing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I'm the luckiest man alive, you know that, honey?" and very weakly, she had replied with a smile. No words needed to be uttered, the one man simply cracked a smile back.

Their bliss however, would be quite short-lived. "Congratulations, Mr. Y...w-what? WHAT? Quickly! Charge the defibrillator!"

As the panic spread across the floor, all that could be heard were the doctors and the beeping from the equipment. Another shout, "Raise the charge to 200! CLEAR!" but the whirring of electrodes could not open her eyes. It was over in mere minutes.

There was nothing left; both the giver of life and her offspring had passed on before they could taste life in its entirety.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the metal obstruction, the one man broke into tears. Suddenly, one bold man had stepped up from the ground to approach the man on the railing.

"Please sir, we just want to hel..."
Then, a squeaking noise. Sneakers scrape across the metal as the man falls backwards over the protective barrier.
As he fell, he could see the bold man's eyes on the bridge above; the sincerity in his eyes...

"Somebody did care...thank God."
The dreary echoing of a lost soul resonated upwards towards the people above as he took his last breath.

Intended moral: Humanity can be cruel and life can be unforgiving. If we don't support each other, then who will? One man's words can make a world of difference.

Word count: 601

It's merely a first draft, so any c&c would be quite helpful. Best of luck to everyone!

Totally missed this EMDAS thing. Interesting. Not new to writing (done fanfiction) but haven't written for a good while. This will be good practice.

Hopefully it's all according to rules and theme.

Spoiler for Decisions V.1:

Decisions

Inside the metallic gut of an APC, blue light was the only thing that illuminated the tiny compartment. Bent over a screen, both of his hands on either side of it, the Colonel stared intently at it.

On the far bottom there was a dark blue circle. At the top red squares. In the middle, traversing the lines forming a grid, were green triangles. His soldiers moving towards the objective that laid before them.

It had been a tough battle so far. The Colonel had suffered major casualties, but he knew that the enemy had as well. Those red squares, moving like ants across the screen, had decreased in numbers the last few hours. But so had his green triangles. He knew he was in for a last push, a last show of power.

“Colonel, the jets are inbound,” the Corporal who was standing next to him said. His skin was glistened with sweat, much like the Colonel. “Do you want me to designate their strike area?”

The Colonel didn’t answer immediately. He thought over his reply, making sure it was the correct one. “Yes, but make sure they know where our guys are pinned down. I don’t want any casualties on our side.”

“Understood,” the Corporal said and turned back to his console to relay the order.

The Colonel returned his attention back to the screen. The situation was becoming dire. His soldiers were now pinned down in several locations and his tanks were stuck further back than he liked. If he couldn’t break the stalemate with the incoming airstrike, he wouldn’t be able to claim the objective. His forces would be annihilated and the battle would be lost.

His knuckles were white from grasping the edges of the screen. He was frustrated with himself, with the decisions he had made in the past. If only he had done that instead of this. If he had taken another decision at that crossroad. If he had, if, if...

It was always the if, the hindsight, that plagued him. It was a weakness he had refused to acknowledge throughout his career, but now it stood there. Laughing in his face with the disappointed faces of his soldiers staring at him.

He shook his head and concentrated. The battle wasn’t lost yet. The jets were coming. The last card he to play. If he broke from pressure now, they would lose for certain. He decided to remain strong, to pull the last ounce of strength he had.

“Sir!” The Corporal’s voice was stricken with panic. “We have a problem. Some of our guys are too far up. If the jets strike now, they’ll hit them too!”

“What?” The Colonel stared at the screen, trying to locate the squad. He found them to the northeast, closer to the enemy than any other squad. He recognized their insignia. They were brilliant soldiers. He hadn’t anticipated them to push that far on their own. “What the hell are those guys doing? Tell them to fall back!”

“Sir, we already told them. They are pinned down by heavy enemy fire. They are stuck.”

At that moment, the Colonel permitted himself to let go of the screen. He stared at it for a few seconds before eyeing the hatch. “Corporal, how far out are the jets?”

“Two minutes, sir. How so?”

The Colonel didn’t respond. He walked over to the hatch and opened it. Bright light blinded him and the noise of war could be heard in the distance. The Corporal didn’t call out to him. The Colonel put his boot down on solid ground.

From the small elevated hill where the APC stood, the Colonel could take a real look at the battlefield. He could see his men pinned down. He could see his tanks stuck too far back to be of any help. He could also faintly make out the location where the squad was stuck. It was too far away for him to see the men, but he could imagine them fighting. Bullets flying all around them, lifeless bodies falling to the ground. They probably wondered what he would do, as they were aware of the impending airstrike.

“What would you have done?” he whispered into the wind. The gears in his head turned and turned. Different combat situations exchanged each other, as the Colonel tried to find an alternate solution.

But there was only a conflict of interest. The interest of life and the interest of war.

The Colonel scoured the horizon, eyeing the plumes of black smoke that rose high into the sky. He could now hear the jets, coming from far away. The birds of war. He imagined the firepower they carried. Firepower that was at his disposal.

He had a choice to make. If he didn’t decide, the battle was lost. If he made the wrong choice, his men would die. But no matter how much he thought he couldn’t see a right choice.

So he decided.

“Corporal, tell them... Tell them to go ahead with the airstrike.”

He didn’t turn around to face the Corporal, but he knew the boy’s emotion from the reply that the Colonel got. He couldn’t blame him. But the Corporal hadn’t made the decision. He wasn’t the one that would have to inform the next of kin.

The jets came from the east. As white lightning they shot across the sky so fast that the Colonel had trouble following them with his eyes. They only left a thunderous rumble that signalled their departure and existence.

As the bombs fell, eradicating the enemy and the squad that held his own men, the Colonel saluted in silence.

Better check it through tomorrow as late night writing tend to result in blind errors. And perhaps the subject matter is hard to compile into a short story, but I try anyway!

Totally missed this EMDAS thing. Interesting. Not new to writing (done fanfiction) but haven't written for a good while. This will be good practice.

Hopefully it's all according to rules and theme.

Spoiler for Decisions V.1:

Decisions

Inside the metallic gut of an APC, blue light was the only thing that illuminated the tiny compartment. Bent over a screen, both of his hands on either side of it, the Colonel stared intently at it.

On the far bottom there was a dark blue circle. At the top red squares. In the middle, traversing the lines forming a grid, were green triangles. His soldiers moving towards the objective that laid before them.

It had been a tough battle so far. The Colonel had suffered major casualties, but he knew that the enemy had as well. Those red squares, moving like ants across the screen, had decreased in numbers the last few hours. But so had his green triangles. He knew he was in for a last push, a last show of power.

“Colonel, the jets are inbound,” the Corporal who was standing next to him said. His skin was glistened with sweat, much like the Colonel. “Do you want me to designate their strike area?”

The Colonel didn’t answer immediately. He thought over his reply, making sure it was the correct one. “Yes, but make sure they know where our guys are pinned down. I don’t want any casualties on our side.”

“Understood,” the Corporal said and turned back to his console to relay the order.

The Colonel returned his attention back to the screen. The situation was becoming dire. His soldiers were now pinned down in several locations and his tanks were stuck further back than he liked. If he couldn’t break the stalemate with the incoming airstrike, he wouldn’t be able to claim the objective. His forces would be annihilated and the battle would be lost.

His knuckles were white from grasping the edges of the screen. He was frustrated with himself, with the decisions he had made in the past. If only he had done that instead of this. If he had taken another decision at that crossroad. If he had, if, if...

It was always the if, the hindsight, that plagued him. It was a weakness he had refused to acknowledge throughout his career, but now it stood there. Laughing in his face with the disappointed faces of his soldiers staring at him.

He shook his head and concentrated. The battle wasn’t lost yet. The jets were coming. The last card he to play. If he broke from pressure now, they would lose for certain. He decided to remain strong, to pull the last ounce of strength he had.

“Sir!” The Corporal’s voice was stricken with panic. “We have a problem. Some of our guys are too far up. If the jets strike now, they’ll hit them too!”

“What?” The Colonel stared at the screen, trying to locate the squad. He found them to the northeast, closer to the enemy than any other squad. He recognized their insignia. They were brilliant soldiers. He hadn’t anticipated them to push that far on their own. “What the hell are those guys doing? Tell them to fall back!”

“Sir, we already told them. They are pinned down by heavy enemy fire. They are stuck.”

At that moment, the Colonel permitted himself to let go of the screen. He stared at it for a few seconds before eyeing the hatch. “Corporal, how far out are the jets?”

“Two minutes, sir. How so?”

The Colonel didn’t respond. He walked over to the hatch and opened it. Bright light blinded him and the noise of war could be heard in the distance. The Corporal didn’t call out to him. The Colonel put his boot down on solid ground.

From the small elevated hill where the APC stood, the Colonel could take a real look at the battlefield. He could see his men pinned down. He could see his tanks stuck too far back to be of any help. He could also faintly make out the location where the squad was stuck. It was too far away for him to see the men, but he could imagine them fighting. Bullets flying all around them, lifeless bodies falling to the ground. They probably wondered what he would do, as they were aware of the impending airstrike.

“What would you have done?” he whispered into the wind. The gears in his head turned and turned. Different combat situations exchanged each other, as the Colonel tried to find an alternate solution.

But there was only a conflict of interest. The interest of life and the interest of war.

The Colonel scoured the horizon, eyeing the plumes of black smoke that rose high into the sky. He could now hear the jets, coming from far away. The birds of war. He imagined the firepower they carried. Firepower that was at his disposal.

He had a choice to make. If he didn’t decide, the battle was lost. If he made the wrong choice, his men would die. But no matter how much he thought he couldn’t see a right choice.

So he decided.

“Corporal, tell them... Tell them to go ahead with the airstrike.”

He didn’t turn around to face the Corporal, but he knew the boy’s emotion from the reply that the Colonel got. He couldn’t blame him. But the Corporal hadn’t made the decision. He wasn’t the one that would have to inform the next of kin.

The jets came from the east. As white lightning they shot across the sky so fast that the Colonel had trouble following them with his eyes. They only left a thunderous rumble that signalled their departure and existence.

As the bombs fell, eradicating the enemy and the squad that held his own men, the Colonel saluted in silence.

Better check it through tomorrow as late night writing tend to result in blind errors. And perhaps the subject matter is hard to compile into a short story, but I try anyway!

Fits well into the theme, excellent work. An edit never hurts of course, I'm still going through my own while nitpicking. I enjoyed reading your entry.

Better check it through tomorrow as late night writing tend to result in blind errors. And perhaps the subject matter is hard to compile into a short story, but I try anyway!

It was a good read, and expected a military decision making from your avatar but that seems like I am a know it all so let's just leave it at that there is also plenty of time left to do some edits, that's the advantage of early entries and disadvantage of late entries if they rushed into making the story.

My first entry! Took a few days because I couldn't think of anything>.>

Spoiler for One Man:

One Man

Decline

The one man stood on the sidewalk; his breathing was unstable, and his sanity was diminishing.

*pant* *pant* "WHAT THE HELL!" he screamed, as he tore the tender flesh off his knuckles on the nearby steel railing. Spectators on the same sidewalk scurried by, shocked and panicked by what the man was doing to himself.

Nobody breaks out of the chain of 'society's norm'; not one man, woman nor child had missed the pool of blood or the pained screaming.

"Mommy, what is that man doing?" and the immediate reply followed. "Sssh, don't look at him! Come now, just keep walking."

When the screaming subsided, the one man realized that nobody would become wary of his desperate pleas. If only one man would step forth, only one...

Desperation

"You...bloody...cruel...world."
Oh, how differently the one man viewed the world now; it was somewhat ironic. It had only been 3 months ago when he knew true happiness.

"I-It's a girl! She looks like an angel!" cried the man, as he held the new member of his family. Turning his head to face his beautiful wife, he couldn't be more thankful that they were all together. "I'm the luckiest man alive, you know that?" he had said.

And the irony of those words had sunk in. He wasn't the luckiest man alive; it was simply a moment of bliss. Bellowing a sick laugh, he slumped down into his own pool of blood, which still flowed freshly from his open wound. At that exact moment, the sirens of an ambulance could be heard; it would only be a few more clicks before the man would be whisked away for treatment and incarceration.

Demolition

"S-Stay back, you bastards!" he cried. Following standard procedure, the medical team did not halt their progression on the one man. There was no choice left for the man.

And in the span of 3 seconds, the trauma team was on the floor. "WE NEED BACKUP! PATIENT IS ARMED AND DANGEROUS!"

Laughing in a sick tone once again, the one man began to step backwards in a trance. Once he had stepped over the obstructive railing, he held his balance and pointed the firearm at his own temple.

"YOU WANT TO HELP ME NOW?! AFTER I rend the flesh off of my skin, AFTER I lose everything, and AFTER I faced rejection from all who gazed at my situation. After...I lost...everything."

That was when the one man reminisced upon his tragedy, his undoing.

"I'm the luckiest man alive, you know that, honey?" and very weakly, she had replied with a smile. No words needed to be uttered, the one man simply cracked a smile back.

Their bliss however, would be quite short-lived. "Congratulations, Mr. Y...w-what? WHAT? Quickly! Charge the defibrillator!"

As the panic spread across the floor, all that could be heard were the doctors and the beeping from the equipment. Another shout, "Raise the charge to 200! CLEAR!" but the whirring of electrodes could not open her eyes. It was over in mere minutes.

There was nothing left; both the giver of life and her offspring had passed on before they could taste life in its entirety.

On the railing, the one man broke into tears. One bold man had stepped up from the ground to approach the man on the railing.

"Please sir, we just want to hel..." and the one man fell backwards into the water below. As he fell, he could see the bold man's eyes on the bridge above; the sincerity in his eyes...

"Somebody did care...thank God." and he plummeted to the emptiness below.

Intended moral: Humanity can be cruel and life can be unforgiving. If we don't support each other, then who will? One man's words can make a world of difference.

Word count: 601

It's merely a first draft, so any c&c would be quite helpful. Best of luck to everyone!

Alright, needed two reads to get it fully *ashamed*
The whole stories goes at full speed and is rather fragmanted. But it reflects the mental state the 'one man' is in, so I rather like it.

I find it quite hard to say what to improve - I actually think it works well as a short piece. A fast but hard ride Maybe giving one example of how humanity gave him the cold shoulder after his loss would emphasize the significance of the last guy caring about him. But the scene on the sidewalk kinda did that already, so.
The "*pant*" felt out of place to me, but might simply be me.
This one depressed me kinda.

Quote:

Originally Posted by AtomicoX

Totally missed this EMDAS thing. Interesting. Not new to writing (done fanfiction) but haven't written for a good while. This will be good practice.

Hopefully it's all according to rules and theme.

Spoiler for Decisions V.1:

Decisions

Inside the metallic gut of an APC, blue light was the only thing that illuminated the tiny compartment. Bent over a screen, both of his hands on either side of it, the Colonel stared intently at it.

On the far bottom there was a dark blue circle. At the top red squares. In the middle, traversing the lines forming a grid, were green triangles. His soldiers moving towards the objective that laid before them.

It had been a tough battle so far. The Colonel had suffered major casualties, but he knew that the enemy had as well. Those red squares, moving like ants across the screen, had decreased in numbers the last few hours. But so had his green triangles. He knew he was in for a last push, a last show of power.

“Colonel, the jets are inbound,” the Corporal who was standing next to him said. His skin was glistened with sweat, much like the Colonel. “Do you want me to designate their strike area?”

The Colonel didn’t answer immediately. He thought over his reply, making sure it was the correct one. “Yes, but make sure they know where our guys are pinned down. I don’t want any casualties on our side.”

“Understood,” the Corporal said and turned back to his console to relay the order.

The Colonel returned his attention back to the screen. The situation was becoming dire. His soldiers were now pinned down in several locations and his tanks were stuck further back than he liked. If he couldn’t break the stalemate with the incoming airstrike, he wouldn’t be able to claim the objective. His forces would be annihilated and the battle would be lost.

His knuckles were white from grasping the edges of the screen. He was frustrated with himself, with the decisions he had made in the past. If only he had done that instead of this. If he had taken another decision at that crossroad. If he had, if, if...

It was always the if, the hindsight, that plagued him. It was a weakness he had refused to acknowledge throughout his career, but now it stood there. Laughing in his face with the disappointed faces of his soldiers staring at him.

He shook his head and concentrated. The battle wasn’t lost yet. The jets were coming. The last card he to play. If he broke from pressure now, they would lose for certain. He decided to remain strong, to pull the last ounce of strength he had.

“Sir!” The Corporal’s voice was stricken with panic. “We have a problem. Some of our guys are too far up. If the jets strike now, they’ll hit them too!”

“What?” The Colonel stared at the screen, trying to locate the squad. He found them to the northeast, closer to the enemy than any other squad. He recognized their insignia. They were brilliant soldiers. He hadn’t anticipated them to push that far on their own. “What the hell are those guys doing? Tell them to fall back!”

“Sir, we already told them. They are pinned down by heavy enemy fire. They are stuck.”

At that moment, the Colonel permitted himself to let go of the screen. He stared at it for a few seconds before eyeing the hatch. “Corporal, how far out are the jets?”

“Two minutes, sir. How so?”

The Colonel didn’t respond. He walked over to the hatch and opened it. Bright light blinded him and the noise of war could be heard in the distance. The Corporal didn’t call out to him. The Colonel put his boot down on solid ground.

From the small elevated hill where the APC stood, the Colonel could take a real look at the battlefield. He could see his men pinned down. He could see his tanks stuck too far back to be of any help. He could also faintly make out the location where the squad was stuck. It was too far away for him to see the men, but he could imagine them fighting. Bullets flying all around them, lifeless bodies falling to the ground. They probably wondered what he would do, as they were aware of the impending airstrike.

“What would you have done?” he whispered into the wind. The gears in his head turned and turned. Different combat situations exchanged each other, as the Colonel tried to find an alternate solution.

But there was only a conflict of interest. The interest of life and the interest of war.

The Colonel scoured the horizon, eyeing the plumes of black smoke that rose high into the sky. He could now hear the jets, coming from far away. The birds of war. He imagined the firepower they carried. Firepower that was at his disposal.

He had a choice to make. If he didn’t decide, the battle was lost. If he made the wrong choice, his men would die. But no matter how much he thought he couldn’t see a right choice.

So he decided.

“Corporal, tell them... Tell them to go ahead with the airstrike.”

He didn’t turn around to face the Corporal, but he knew the boy’s emotion from the reply that the Colonel got. He couldn’t blame him. But the Corporal hadn’t made the decision. He wasn’t the one that would have to inform the next of kin.

The jets came from the east. As white lightning they shot across the sky so fast that the Colonel had trouble following them with his eyes. They only left a thunderous rumble that signalled their departure and existence.

As the bombs fell, eradicating the enemy and the squad that held his own men, the Colonel saluted in silence.

Better check it through tomorrow as late night writing tend to result in blind errors. And perhaps the subject matter is hard to compile into a short story, but I try anyway!

I don't really like military themed stories, but I really enjoyed this one. I immediately got sucked in and the Colonel is very sympathetic despite his cruel actions.

Wow, would you believe it if I said I had the same (about) exact story, except mine is still at 349 words? Lol.

Well. snoozers losers. Back to the drawing board, then.

I think the saying: "Great minds think alike." comes to mind here. I know you've got another great story in you, there's still lots of time^^

Quote:

Originally Posted by zebra

Alright, needed two reads to get it fully *ashamed*
The whole stories goes at full speed and is rather fragmanted. But it reflects the mental state the 'one man' is in, so I rather like it.

I find it quite hard to say what to improve - I actually think it works well as a short piece. A fast but hard ride Maybe giving one example of how humanity gave him the cold shoulder after his loss would emphasize the significance of the last guy caring about him. But the scene on the sidewalk kinda did that already, so.
The "*pant*" felt out of place to me, but might simply be me.
This one depressed me kinda.

I don't really like military themed stories, but I really enjoyed this one. I immediately got sucked in and the Colonel is very sympathetic despite his cruel actions.

... I might post a story myself this time *coughs*

Thank you for the C&C I shall make an edit tonight; that added *pant* is bothering me as well. Apologies if it dampens anyone's spirits, but that's the style I write in>.< I certainly hope to see your entry this month!

Wow, would you believe it if I said I had the same (about) exact story, except mine is still at 349 words? Lol.

Well. snoozers losers. Back to the drawing board, then.

No, no, let's see what you got. Similar ideas happen in these things.

Quote:

Originally Posted by zebra

I don't really like military themed stories, but I really enjoyed this one. I immediately got sucked in and the Colonel is very sympathetic despite his cruel actions.

Excellent. That means I did something right.

While I'm a big military story junkie myself, I mostly like them for experiencing the human aspect in them, if written right. I'm not *that* interested in the hardware. Perhaps that's why it fell into your tastes.

The noble king gasped, eyes narrow, but face dignified—the just king is slain.
He fell to the world.
He expected his spirit to be carried on.

The old warrior-king had felt his foe's spear pierce through his armor, but paid it no mind. The blow brought him to the ground, but the honored man was prepared to die. After all, he was dying for his country and his people, dying as the great and benevolent ruler! His retinue of men-at-arms swooped down on the enemy, fighting for the body of the king they thought dead. They overwhelmed the man who struck down their ruler. The king smiled behind his helm. This devotion—absolute proof of the good king!

A shriek sounded high above the plain. A raven looked down on the king with a bold stare. The king’s eyes grew wide; he felt something else piercing him now, but it was far beyond the physical. Some ethereal sense lanced itself deep into his chest and overwhelmed the king with disquiet. The king caught sight of his killer then, gutted and dying as he was. The man’s helm had been knocked off in the melee and the lordly king saw the man’s mutilated face. Vapid eyes stared into nothing and his gaping mouth was filling with blood. He drowned in it. Terror seized the king’s throat.

Hands took hold of him now, his knights, and they would carry him. But they would not take him away from here—from this newfound horror—as he had hoped. The raven shrieked again, its accusations following the king. It rose above the clamor of men fighting and killing, weeping and dying. He tried to refuse what he saw as he was dragged along. Some soldier, merely a boy, gave an unearthly scream as he bled out from his wounds. Another tried to, but instead it only bubbled the blood pooling in his throat from the cut there. A third was only silently weeping as he lay impaled by an arrow. They were without distinction; the blood covered both his crest and his enemy’s just the same. The lamentations were endless, but, in spite of all who were here, they were private lamentations. The suffering of any one did not matter when they all suffered. Their only observers were the king and the raven.

But no! the king told himself. The people still loved him, the knights were still loyal. He clutched his personal truth and held himself over it. He felt himself pushed against a tree by his knights. He wished for anything, any more to prove his truth. He wished for words of mourning. But they talked only of the prestige and courtly honors they would gain for retrieving the body of the king, the lands they would take from their newly conquered foe after the battle. They left, satisfied with the death of the king.

Then the world around him grew louder. But it was not the sound of battle. The raven called, and the bodies surrounding the tree—there are so many bodies, why are there so many bodies? the king asked—seemed to respond in kind. The king heard a din, both somber and angry, rise around him. It grew. It drowned out everything. The one voice of the dead mass arose and attacked him, rejecting him, sentencing him to die as they had. The king tried to cover his ears, but his body had long given up to death. The raven perched above the tree, cawing and cawing, and the king knew that it was the composer of this elegy. The din rose still, still! and swallowed the king’s personal truth. And they told him. He had never been a people’s man, only a confidence man, peddling some petty nobles’ war as theirs. He had merely conned himself.

The bodies condemned him.
Warmonger! they called him.
Tyrant! they charged him..
Murderer! they convicted him.

A horseman—carrying the king’s own crest!—rode by and knocked the king’s body askew. His face landed in mud. The king, but now only a broken, craven man, began to heave. He choked on the mud and his own spittle. He lied mangled, as the world around him lied mangled. The dignified king existed no more. The raven gave its malevolent cry one final time, but this time it was halting, sputtering, staccato. And still again it came above that damned din! The craven man heard laughter.

The sepulchral king begged, groveled, whined—wasn’t I a just king?
The world rebuked him.
The carrion bird did not.

Word count o' 764 (sans that title) according to Microsoft Word. Final entry and whatnot.

Last edited by WordShaker; 2011-03-14 at 01:15.
Reason: That there wordin' needed fixin'.

The conflict might not be so obvious, but the ideas I had that fit it to a T ... I didn't like them so much and didn't finish 'em. So here!

Spoiler for Flickering Light v1.2:

Flickering Light

It's cold. I take a deep breath and exhale with all my might. I can see the air escaping my mouth at full speed; it's like smoke. It only takes seconds until it turns into colourless air again.

I hate the cold. And I hate the dark. I hate days like this.

I get up when the sun has yet to rise and I return when it's already hiding beyond the horizon. The lack of light depresses me. I want to feel the sun on my skin; I miss the warmth filling my body.
The few people on the street look at me funny. Do I look so out of place?
I'm tired, so I trudge forward at a slow pace. Maybe I should take a bath once I get home? But it always takes so long. I always prefer to shower in the end.
I clench my hands into fists – harder and harder. Until the knuckles turn white. I let go and stretch them out and then clench them again. I really should have brought gloves today.

I finally arrive at the bridge. Just a little more and I'm home. Maybe I should have some tea once I get home; or maybe a coffee would be better? One of the street lights flickers. I stop in front of it and watch it for a bit, wondering if the smoke ascending from my mouth reaches the light bulb up there; even when invisible. It reminds me of my youth, when I roamed the neighbourhood with my classmates. We hit the street lamps until they went off. My lips want to curl into a grin, but they give up half way. I rise my foot and kick the flickering street lamp with all my might. The scream I let out echoes through the nothingness surrounding the bridge.

The light bulb stops flickering. And I stand in the dark.

I somehow feel like I should scold myself. I slowly turn around and want to continue my way. But then I spot him-

A man.

He's standing on the railing of the bridge on the other side. His back is facing me.
It suddenly hits me: he's looking down into the river. He wants to jump.

I stand there in the sole dark spot on the bridge that I created with my attack on the streetlight; I'm petrified. A whole torrent of words whirl up inside of me, but none make it out of my mouth.
Only the smoke continues to leave me.

The man suddenly lifts his head up to the sky and raises his arms as if they were wings.

No.

No.

I can't just watch.

I have to-

Someone-

“NO!”

The word finally bursts out my mouth as I run over to his side. I grab the fabric of his coat before giving it a thought.

“Don't do it!”

The man slowly turns his head to look at me. My stomach clenches as I realize that he's about the same age as me. He only raises an eyebrow at me.

“Let go.”

His voice is a lot lower than I would have expected. He is looking at the river again.

“But-”

I stop, but he hasn't interrupted me. I just don't know what to say. 'I understand how you feel'? No, he would just laugh at me.

The man grins and waves and attempts to jump- I scream so loud and high pitched my ears ring. But he didn't jump; he had stopped right before taking off. He looks at me wide eyed, before he starts to break into laughter. He slowly sinks down to the railing and sits down.
But he doesn't stop laughing. He even holds his belly as if he had no care in the world and being shocked by someone wanting to jump off the bridge was the most absurd thing in the world.

I want to shove him down now.

“YOU!” My silence finally ends. I can feel that my face has heated up. “What do you think you're doing?!”

My screaming makes him stop finally. He looks at me surprised.

“I was just standing here, you're the one who approached me.”

“Because I thought you were going to jump, you idiot!” I huff.

“Oh really? So you came to save me then?” He locks eyes with me. I want to slap him to wipe the smug grin off his face.

“So what?! It's what you do when you see someone attempting suicide!”

“Hmm, is that so?” He hums; his eyes aren't leaving me.

I look down at my feet. I did the right thing, so why is he making fun of me?

“Do you want a pat on the back for being so heroic?” He mocks me.

“Do whatever you want, you lunatic!” I turn to leave.

But he isn't done with me yet: “Wasn't very heroic to be honest. If I had really wanted to kill myself you'd been way too late.”

I jerk to a halt and glance over my shoulder. He's standing again, facing the dark water of the river.

“Way too slow. Once you noticed me you froze up.”

I want to ignore him. To just go home. But I stand still.

“What were you afraid of?” He asks. I hear him chuckle.

“It's normal to be shocked when seeing something like that.”

“Always the same excuse.” The man shakes his head.

I can't help but turn around. I open my mouth, but stay silent.

“What I'm doing here?” He grins at me from over his shoulder. “Just wondering.”

“About what?” I nearly shout, because I don't want to step any closer.

“If you'd die from such a height. If it'd hurt.”

He has smoke coming out of his mouth, too.

“So you want to die?”

“Sometimes.” He kneels down and starts to drum on the stone railing. There's barely any sound. “At least I wonder about it from time to time.”

“... you should go to a therapist.” I mutter and start to walk away. I’ve had enough.

THUD. He jumped down the railing – onto the bridge.
My kneels feel weak suddenly. I'm afraid; please don't be dangerous, Mr. Lunatic! I start to walk faster but he catches up to me immediately.

“I don't need therapy.”

I just want to walk past him, but he doesn't let me.

“It'd be weird to never wonder, don't you think?”

“I never thought about it before!” I shout and look around, but the only person I spot makes sure not to look this way.

“You're lying.” He grins at me again.

Just when I start to think about how I could defend myself, he suddenly walks past me and goes the other way. He stops in front of the turned off street lamp.

“My thirst for life is greater than yours.” He says and kicks the pole with such force the metal starts ringing. The street light flickers two times – then it stays on, illuminating the darkness around the weird man.

He leaves without saying another word. Leaving me in the shine of the street lamps, feeling petrified yet again.

Words: 1150

Thanks to Moczo for going error hunting <3

Knowing me I'll still rework it, so critique and suggestions are welcomed of course. I left many things ambigious on purpose, but maybe it doesn't make as much sense to others.
Dialogues are my enemy in English so I always try to write them to improve

The noble king gasped, eyes narrow, but face dignified—the just king is slain.
He fell to the world.
He expected his spirit to be carried on.

The old warrior-king had felt the spear of his foe pierce through his armor, but paid it no mind. It had brought him to the ground, but the honored man was prepared to die. After all, he was dying for his country and his people, dying as the great and benevolent ruler! His retinue of men-at-arms swooped down on the enemy, fighting for the body of the king they thought dead. They overwhelmed the man who struck down their ruler. The king smiled behind his helm. This devotion—absolute proof of the good king!

A shriek sounded high above the plain. A raven looked down on the king with a bold stare. The king’s eyes grew wide; he felt something else piercing him now, but it was far beyond the physical. Some ethereal sense lanced itself deep into his chest and overwhelmed the king with disquiet. The king caught sight of his killer then, gutted and dying as he was. The man’s helm had been knocked off in the melee and the lordly king saw the man’s mutilated face. Vapid eyes stared into nothing and his gaping mouth was filling with blood. He drowned in it. Terror seized the king’s throat.

Hands took hold of him now, his knights, and they would carry him. But they would not take him away from here—from this newfound horror—as he had hoped. The raven shrieked again, its accusations following him. It rose above the clamor of men fighting and killing, weeping and dying. He tried to refuse what he saw as he was dragged along. Some soldier, merely a boy, gave an unearthly scream as he bled out from his wounds. Another tried to, but instead it only bubbled the blood pooling in his throat from the cut there. A third was only silently weeping, impaled as he was. They wore both his crest and his enemy’s. The lamentations were endless, but, in spite of all that was here, they were private lamentations. The suffering of any one did not matter when they all suffered. Their only observers were the king and the raven.

But no! the king told himself. The people still loved him, the knights were still loyal. He clutched his personal truth and held himself over it. He felt himself pushed against a tree by his knights. He wished for anything, any more to prove his truth. He wished for words of mourning. But they talked only of the prestige and courtly honors they would gain for retrieving the body of the king, the lands they would receive from their newly conquered foe for this. They left, satisfied with the death of the king.

Then the world around him grew louder. But it was not the sound of battle. The raven called, and the bodies surrounding the tree—there are so many bodies, why are there so many bodies? the king asked—seemed to respond in kind. The king heard a din, both somber and angry, rise around him. It grew. It drowned out everything. The one voice of the dead mass arose and attacked him, rejecting him, sentencing him to die as they had. The king tried to cover his ears, but his body had long given up to death. The raven perched above the tree, cawing and cawing, and the king knew that it was the composer of this elegy. The din rose still, still! and swallowed the king’s personal truth. And they told him. He had never been a people’s man, only a confidence man, peddling some petty nobles’ war as theirs. He had merely conned himself.

The bodies condemned him.
Warmonger! they called him.
Tyranny! they charged him..
Murderer! they convicted him.

A horseman—carrying the king’s own crest!—rode by and knocked the king’s body askew. His face landed in mud. The king, but now only a broken, craven man, began to heave. He choked on the mud and his own spittle. He lied mangled, as the world around him lied mangled. The dignified king existed no more. The raven gave its malevolent cry once more, but this time it was halting, sputtering, staccato. And still again it came above that damned din! The craven man heard laughter.

The sepulchral king begged, groveled, whined—wasn’t I a just king?
The world rebuked him.
The carrion bird did not.

Word count o' 752 (sans that title) according to Microsoft Word.

Quite an adventurous little tale; you're one of the first people I've seen use such an extensive vocabulary at your supposed age. Everyone still looks at me like I'm insane when I use the word "sepulchral". Well done

Quote:

Originally Posted by zebra

The conflict might not be so obvious, but the ideas I had that fit it to a T ... I didn't like them so much and didn't finish 'em. So here!

Spoiler for Flickering Light v1.1:

Flickering Light

It's cold. I take a deep breath and exhale with all my might. I can see the air escaping my mouth at full speed; it's like smoke. It only takes seconds until it turns into colourless air again.

I hate the cold. And I hate the dark. I hate days like this.

I get up when the sun has yet to rise and I return when it's already hiding beyond the horizon. The lack of light depresses me. I want to feel the sun on my skin; I miss the warmth filling my body.
The few people on the street look at me funny. Do I look so out of place?
I'm tired, so I trudge forward at a slow pace. Maybe I should take a bath once I get home? But it always takes so long. I always prefer to shower in the end.
I clench my hands into fists – harder and harder. Until the knuckles turn white. I let go and stretch them out and then clench them again. I really should have brought gloves today.

I finally arrive at the bridge. Just a little more and I'm home. Maybe I should have some tea once I get home; or maybe a coffee would be better? One of the street lights flickers. I stop in front of it and watch it for a bit, wondering if the smoke ascending from my mouth reaches the light bulb up there; even when invisible. It reminds me of my youth, when I roamed the neighbourhood with my classmates. We hit the street lamps until they went off. My lips want to curl into a grin, but they give up half way. I rise my foot and kick the flickering street lamp with all my might. The scream I let out echoes through the nothingness surrounding the bridge.

The light bulb stops flickering. And I stand in the dark.

I somehow feel like I should scold myself. I slowly turn around and want to continue my way. But then I spot him-

A man.

He's standing on the railing of the bridge on the other side. His back is facing me.
It suddenly hits me: he's looking down into the river. He wants to jump.

I stand there in the sole dark spot on the bridge that I created with my attack on the streetlight; I'm petrified. A whole torrent of words whirl up inside of me, but none make it out of my mouth.
Only the smoke continues to leave me.

The man suddenly lifts his head up to the sky and raises his arms as if they were wings.

No.

No.

I can't just watch.

I have to-

Someone-

“NO!”

The word finally bursts out my mouth as I run over to his side. I grab the fabric of his coat before giving it a thought.

“Don't do it!”

The man slowly turns his head to look at me. My stomach clenches as I realize that he's about the same age as me. He only raises an eyebrow at me.

“Let go.”

His voice is a lot lower than I would have expected. He is looking at the river again.

“But-”

I stop, but he hasn't interrupted me. I just don't know what to say. 'I understand how you feel'? No, he would just laugh at me.

The man grins and waves and attempts to jump- I scream so loud and high pitched my ears ring. But he didn't jump; he had stopped right before taking off. He looks at me wide eyed, before he starts to break into laugher. He slowly sinks down to the railing and sits down.
But he doesn't stop laughing. He even holds his belly as if he had no care in the world and being shocked by someone wanting to jump off the bridge was the most absurd thing in the world.

I want to shove him down now.

“YOU!” My silence finally ends. I can feel that my face has heated up. “What do you think you're doing?!”

My screaming makes him stop finally. He looks at me surprised.

“I was just standing here, you're the one who approached me.”

“Because I thought you were going to jump, you idiot!” I huff.

“Oh really? So you came to save me then?” He locks eyes with me. I want to slap him to wipe the smug grin off his face.

“So what?! It's what you do when you see someone attempting suicide!”

“Hmm, is that so?” He hums; his eyes aren't leaving me.

I look down at my feet. I did the right thing, so why is he making fun of me?

“Do you want a pat on the back for being so heroic?” He mocks me.

“Do whatever you want, you lunatic!” I turn to leave.

But he isn't done with me yet: “Wasn't very heroic to be honest. If I had really wanted to kill myself you'd been way too late.”

I jerk to a halt and glance over my shoulder. He's standing again, facing the dark water of the river.

“Way too slow. Once you noticed me you froze up.”

I want to ignore him. To just go home. But I stand still.

“What were you afraid of?” He asks. I hear him chuckle.

“It's normal to be shocked when seeing something like that.”

“Always the same excuse.” The man shakes his head.

I can't help but turn around. I open my mouth, but stay silent.

“What I'm doing here?” He grins at me from over his shoulder. “Just wondering.”

“About what?” I nearly shout, because I don't want to step any closer.

“If you'd die from such a height. If it'd hurt.”

He has smoke coming out of his mouth, too.

“So you want to die?”

“Sometimes.” He kneels down and starts to drum on the stone railing. There's barely any sound. “At least I wonder about it from time to time.”

“... you should go to a therapist.” I mutter and start to walk away. I’ve had enough.

THUD. He jumped down the railing – onto the bridge.
My kneels feel weak suddenly. I'm afraid; please don't be dangerous, Mr. Lunatic! I start to walk faster but he catches up to me immediatly.

“I don't need therapy.”

I just want to walk past him, but he doesn't let me.

“It'd be weird to never wonder, don't you think?”

“I never thought about it before!” I shout and look around, but the only person I spot makes sure not to look this way.

“You're lying.” He grins at me again.

Just when I start to think about how I could defend myself, he suddenly walks past me and goes the other way. He stops in front of the turned off street lamp.

“My thirst for life is greater than yours.” He says and kicks the pole with such force the metal starts ringing. The street light flickers two times – then it stays on, illuminating the darkness around the weird man.

He leaves without saying another word. Leaving me in the shine of the street lamps, feeling petrified yet again.

Words: 1150

Thanks to Moczo for going error hunting <3

Knowing me I'll still rework it, so critique and suggestions are welcomed of course. I left many things ambigious on purpose, but maybe it doesn't make as much sense to others.
Dialogues are my enemy in English so I always try to write them to improve

(I raised an eyebrow at the ban of italics and bold btw )

Oh, a good commitment has led you to a quickly submitted and very solid entry! It was even given a thorough proofreading; looks like you had a reliable one to assist you How did you find the somewhat extreme limitations? It's good for a writer to venture off into new limitations and challenges; most writers can and will use italics/bold to accentuate their text, but it's good to see you managed to get a similar point across whilst refraining from using those tags. Nothing to ruminate about, just a limitation that forces you to write in a different style, is all.

The conflict might not be so obvious, but the ideas I had that fit it to a T ... I didn't like them so much and didn't finish 'em. So here!

Spoiler for Flickering Light v1.1:

Flickering Light

It's cold. I take a deep breath and exhale with all my might. I can see the air escaping my mouth at full speed; it's like smoke. It only takes seconds until it turns into colourless air again.

I hate the cold. And I hate the dark. I hate days like this.

I get up when the sun has yet to rise and I return when it's already hiding beyond the horizon. The lack of light depresses me. I want to feel the sun on my skin; I miss the warmth filling my body.
The few people on the street look at me funny. Do I look so out of place?
I'm tired, so I trudge forward at a slow pace. Maybe I should take a bath once I get home? But it always takes so long. I always prefer to shower in the end.
I clench my hands into fists – harder and harder. Until the knuckles turn white. I let go and stretch them out and then clench them again. I really should have brought gloves today.

I finally arrive at the bridge. Just a little more and I'm home. Maybe I should have some tea once I get home; or maybe a coffee would be better? One of the street lights flickers. I stop in front of it and watch it for a bit, wondering if the smoke ascending from my mouth reaches the light bulb up there; even when invisible. It reminds me of my youth, when I roamed the neighbourhood with my classmates. We hit the street lamps until they went off. My lips want to curl into a grin, but they give up half way. I rise my foot and kick the flickering street lamp with all my might. The scream I let out echoes through the nothingness surrounding the bridge.

The light bulb stops flickering. And I stand in the dark.

I somehow feel like I should scold myself. I slowly turn around and want to continue my way. But then I spot him-

A man.

He's standing on the railing of the bridge on the other side. His back is facing me.
It suddenly hits me: he's looking down into the river. He wants to jump.

I stand there in the sole dark spot on the bridge that I created with my attack on the streetlight; I'm petrified. A whole torrent of words whirl up inside of me, but none make it out of my mouth.
Only the smoke continues to leave me.

The man suddenly lifts his head up to the sky and raises his arms as if they were wings.

No.

No.

I can't just watch.

I have to-

Someone-

“NO!”

The word finally bursts out my mouth as I run over to his side. I grab the fabric of his coat before giving it a thought.

“Don't do it!”

The man slowly turns his head to look at me. My stomach clenches as I realize that he's about the same age as me. He only raises an eyebrow at me.

“Let go.”

His voice is a lot lower than I would have expected. He is looking at the river again.

“But-”

I stop, but he hasn't interrupted me. I just don't know what to say. 'I understand how you feel'? No, he would just laugh at me.

The man grins and waves and attempts to jump- I scream so loud and high pitched my ears ring. But he didn't jump; he had stopped right before taking off. He looks at me wide eyed, before he starts to break into laugher. He slowly sinks down to the railing and sits down.
But he doesn't stop laughing. He even holds his belly as if he had no care in the world and being shocked by someone wanting to jump off the bridge was the most absurd thing in the world.

I want to shove him down now.

“YOU!” My silence finally ends. I can feel that my face has heated up. “What do you think you're doing?!”

My screaming makes him stop finally. He looks at me surprised.

“I was just standing here, you're the one who approached me.”

“Because I thought you were going to jump, you idiot!” I huff.

“Oh really? So you came to save me then?” He locks eyes with me. I want to slap him to wipe the smug grin off his face.

“So what?! It's what you do when you see someone attempting suicide!”

“Hmm, is that so?” He hums; his eyes aren't leaving me.

I look down at my feet. I did the right thing, so why is he making fun of me?

“Do you want a pat on the back for being so heroic?” He mocks me.

“Do whatever you want, you lunatic!” I turn to leave.

But he isn't done with me yet: “Wasn't very heroic to be honest. If I had really wanted to kill myself you'd been way too late.”

I jerk to a halt and glance over my shoulder. He's standing again, facing the dark water of the river.

“Way too slow. Once you noticed me you froze up.”

I want to ignore him. To just go home. But I stand still.

“What were you afraid of?” He asks. I hear him chuckle.

“It's normal to be shocked when seeing something like that.”

“Always the same excuse.” The man shakes his head.

I can't help but turn around. I open my mouth, but stay silent.

“What I'm doing here?” He grins at me from over his shoulder. “Just wondering.”

“About what?” I nearly shout, because I don't want to step any closer.

“If you'd die from such a height. If it'd hurt.”

He has smoke coming out of his mouth, too.

“So you want to die?”

“Sometimes.” He kneels down and starts to drum on the stone railing. There's barely any sound. “At least I wonder about it from time to time.”

“... you should go to a therapist.” I mutter and start to walk away. I’ve had enough.

THUD. He jumped down the railing – onto the bridge.
My kneels feel weak suddenly. I'm afraid; please don't be dangerous, Mr. Lunatic! I start to walk faster but he catches up to me immediatly.

“I don't need therapy.”

I just want to walk past him, but he doesn't let me.

“It'd be weird to never wonder, don't you think?”

“I never thought about it before!” I shout and look around, but the only person I spot makes sure not to look this way.

“You're lying.” He grins at me again.

Just when I start to think about how I could defend myself, he suddenly walks past me and goes the other way. He stops in front of the turned off street lamp.

“My thirst for life is greater than yours.” He says and kicks the pole with such force the metal starts ringing. The street light flickers two times – then it stays on, illuminating the darkness around the weird man.

He leaves without saying another word. Leaving me in the shine of the street lamps, feeling petrified yet again.

Words: 1150

Thanks to Moczo for going error hunting <3

Knowing me I'll still rework it, so critique and suggestions are welcomed of course. I left many things ambigious on purpose, but maybe it doesn't make as much sense to others.
Dialogues are my enemy in English so I always try to write them to improve

(I raised an eyebrow at the ban of italics and bold btw )

Man, I really, really love the feeling going on here. It's great, especially right now; there's this slight rumbling of thunder going on outside and the sky is a sort of ruddy yellow, and it all seems to just fit. It's far too perfect.

I've also always liked these sort of stories, too. I like the idea of one person passing on some sort of higher wisdom to another simply in how they act, rather than through a lecture or something. It really hits home for me.

There are one or two slight spelling mistakes ("laugher" and "immediatly" specifically), but no big deal. Be damned if I didn't say that the way the story flowed pulled me right in, though.

Great stuff, all in all.

Quote:

Originally Posted by papermario13689

Quite an adventurous little tale; you're one of the first people I've seen use such an extensive vocabulary at your supposed age. Everyone still looks at me like I'm insane when I use the word "sepulchral". Well done

That's right, I'm really a 34-year old salaryman.

Last edited by WordShaker; 2011-03-09 at 08:01.
Reason: Pfft, one word changes the entire meaning of the sentence. Fixed!

That would actually bring forth some legitimate shock. Not for the reason that you'd be over twice the supposed age, but because 34 year old salarymen of our area would actually never have knowledge of that word.>.> I went through high school seeing the supposedly well-educated teachers misspell words over and over; it was no simple mistake.

Either way, I guess what I'm saying is that I have a strong respect for those who can use proper grammar and spell words correctly. If you don't know something, you look it up, you expand your knowledge, and that's what's so admirable.

Wow, listen to me talk. That's what I get for playing a VN with dark music so late at night. I'll be posting an updated draft of my entry tomorrow, hopefully.

The noble king gasped, eyes narrow, but face dignified—the just king is slain.
He fell to the world.
He expected his spirit to be carried on.

The old warrior-king had felt the spear of his foe pierce through his armor, but paid it no mind. It had brought him to the ground, but the honored man was prepared to die. After all, he was dying for his country and his people, dying as the great and benevolent ruler! His retinue of men-at-arms swooped down on the enemy, fighting for the body of the king they thought dead. They overwhelmed the man who struck down their ruler. The king smiled behind his helm. This devotion—absolute proof of the good king!

A shriek sounded high above the plain. A raven looked down on the king with a bold stare. The king’s eyes grew wide; he felt something else piercing him now, but it was far beyond the physical. Some ethereal sense lanced itself deep into his chest and overwhelmed the king with disquiet. The king caught sight of his killer then, gutted and dying as he was. The man’s helm had been knocked off in the melee and the lordly king saw the man’s mutilated face. Vapid eyes stared into nothing and his gaping mouth was filling with blood. He drowned in it. Terror seized the king’s throat.

Hands took hold of him now, his knights, and they would carry him. But they would not take him away from here—from this newfound horror—as he had hoped. The raven shrieked again, its accusations following him. It rose above the clamor of men fighting and killing, weeping and dying. He tried to refuse what he saw as he was dragged along. Some soldier, merely a boy, gave an unearthly scream as he bled out from his wounds. Another tried to, but instead it only bubbled the blood pooling in his throat from the cut there. A third was only silently weeping, impaled as he was. They wore both his crest and his enemy’s. The lamentations were endless, but, in spite of all that was here, they were private lamentations. The suffering of any one did not matter when they all suffered. Their only observers were the king and the raven.

But no! the king told himself. The people still loved him, the knights were still loyal. He clutched his personal truth and held himself over it. He felt himself pushed against a tree by his knights. He wished for anything, any more to prove his truth. He wished for words of mourning. But they talked only of the prestige and courtly honors they would gain for retrieving the body of the king, the lands they would receive from their newly conquered foe for this. They left, satisfied with the death of the king.

Then the world around him grew louder. But it was not the sound of battle. The raven called, and the bodies surrounding the tree—there are so many bodies, why are there so many bodies? the king asked—seemed to respond in kind. The king heard a din, both somber and angry, rise around him. It grew. It drowned out everything. The one voice of the dead mass arose and attacked him, rejecting him, sentencing him to die as they had. The king tried to cover his ears, but his body had long given up to death. The raven perched above the tree, cawing and cawing, and the king knew that it was the composer of this elegy. The din rose still, still! and swallowed the king’s personal truth. And they told him. He had never been a people’s man, only a confidence man, peddling some petty nobles’ war as theirs. He had merely conned himself.

The bodies condemned him.
Warmonger! they called him.
Tyranny! they charged him..
Murderer! they convicted him.

A horseman—carrying the king’s own crest!—rode by and knocked the king’s body askew. His face landed in mud. The king, but now only a broken, craven man, began to heave. He choked on the mud and his own spittle. He lied mangled, as the world around him lied mangled. The dignified king existed no more. The raven gave its malevolent cry once more, but this time it was halting, sputtering, staccato. And still again it came above that damned din! The craven man heard laughter.

The sepulchral king begged, groveled, whined—wasn’t I a just king?
The world rebuked him.
The carrion bird did not.

Word count o' 752 (sans that title) according to Microsoft Word.

Man, I really like this one. You're style and writing skills are really good.
We can't know for sure what kind of king he really was, since it's all his point of view. Everything's so dark and brutal yet he tries to see the silver linen on the horizon in a way. His people hate him for all the blood shed, he claims he did his best, but it doesn't matter since everyone is equal in death.

Good stuff.

Quote:

Originally Posted by papermario13689

Oh, a good commitment has led you to a quickly submitted and very solid entry! It was even given a thorough proofreading; looks like you had a reliable one to assist youHow did you find the somewhat extreme limitations? It's good for a writer to venture off into new limitations and challenges; most writers can and will use italics/bold to accentuate their text, but it's good to see you managed to get a similar point across whilst refraining from using those tags. Nothing to ruminate about, just a limitation that forces you to write in a different style, is all.

Thanks for the comment.

I don't think the limitations make any sense, personally. The 1,5k limit yes, but bold and italics? Sure, I can do without, but it's such basic formatting that I find it very weird that it's forbidden in a contest that pretty much asks for very different styles. I actually made sure there aren't any rules regarding paragraphs, breaks and tabs and the like since it was so out of place for me xD

Quote:

Originally Posted by wassupimviet

Man, I really, really love the feeling going on here. It's great, especially right now; there's this slight rumbling of thunder going on outside and the sky is a sort of ruddy yellow, and it all seems to just fit. It's far too perfect.

I've also always liked these sort of stories, too. I like the idea of one person passing on some sort of higher wisdom to another simply in how they act, rather than through a lecture or something. It really hits home for me.

There are one or two slight spelling mistakes ("laugher" and "immediatly" specifically), but no big deal. Be damned if I didn't say that the way the story flowed pulled me right in, though.

Great stuff, all in all.

Thanks for the comment! A very flattering one at that The skies must have known you're reading my story so they rearranged themselves to give you the perfect atmosphere! XD
Also thanks for pointing out the errors, will fix 'em now~

"All great wars had their weapons. Sometimes, it was the weapons that made the war. The last war was no different. After discovering the first forms of Velocity Altering Technology (VAT) the warmongers of the time took no time to make it into a weapon. And thus the the barriers came to be. According to the (natural) laws of physics as first discovered by Newton, every body remains in a state of constant velocity unless acted upon by an external unbalanced force. This simple law of nature indirectly makes bullets kill, explosions hurt and was the foundation for all so called modern weapons before the war. With the advent of barriers the threat of bullets was no more. Guns became nothing more then toys. It was not just guns that became obsolete, explosions relied on shock waves, shock waves relied on speed, velocity and speed went hand in hand, and so the shock wave was nullified by the barriers and explosions became far less effective where barriers were present. They would still burn, but the thunder that made them so deadly was no more. Bombs, feared for decades since their invention, became no more dangerous then fireworks.

Some thought this new technology heralded a new era of piece and prosperity. But the world doesn't work that way. As horrible as the old weapons were, they were part of the old balance, the old stalemate. With them gone, the balance was lost. It didn't take long for men to find new ways to kill themselves for differences.

The technology of peace had several flaws, and they were soon exploited. Radiation, such as electromagnetic radiation, was not bound by the barrier, so any laser weapons would still be as effective as always. Fortunately at that time they were not even pathetically effective. Standard nuclear warheads had the same problem as bombs, their thunder was no more, however they would burn everything anyway so their devastation was still feared and the radiation fallout no less horrible. Even worse, most were converted to neutron bombs, so the fallout behind them would be unbearable even in specialized suits for years.

With most of the high tech approaches failing mankind resorted to more simple solutions. And so the era of blunt weapons come back once more. Soldiers again wore armor, took up swords and went to fight bloody close quarters battles. It wasn't long before technology was brought in and the armor became more sophisticated, the swords more deadly, and the soldiers less human. The artillery went back to the old ways as well. It no longer relied on precise shells and explosives but instead of just hurling ever heavier shells, since the barriers could do nothing against pure mass. The limitations on how effective the barriers were on velocity was always, and still is, proportionate to the objects mass.

And so the war began. It is lost to us when exactly the war started, or who started it. But what we do know is that it was in the name of freedom, and democracy. And thus the flames of the endless hell were brought to consume this world. Men fraught their wars everywhere. For many decades the great war didn't even have anything that could be called sides, nor countries or alliances for that matter. It was all just chaos. Whatever framework to society there was before, was burned to ashes in nuclear fire. Zealots with weapons would rise up, and kill each other for whatever excuse they could find. Death had no honor, death had no purpose, it was all just for the great vain of the world and mankind's arrogance fueled it ever onwards. More death brought even more death with it, and the vicious circle carried on for years.

Inevitably chaos gave way to ordered chaos. Cities rose in the ruins of the old ones, build up on people's fears. For protection great flying fortresses were build to guard against the madness of the world around them. By hovering over cities they were hard to hit by artillery fire, because of gravity pulling projectiles down to earth, and thus battles against them were harsh and long. It is ironic how man takes a few steps forward and several back.

Inevitably cities took over other cities though various means, all rinsed in blood, and in time two major factions emerged. One called itself the Empire and preached order, another called itself the Republic and preached peace; yet both did not have either. In the end the Empire lost, and the world came to settle in a tangible peace, but the mighty Republic payed a heavy price for it's victory and now stands as a mere shell of it's former self.

Even now, 39 years after the war has ended, death still lingers. The war was not kind. Many weapons were used, horrible weapons. And each day new horrors are discovered from the those dark day. One can not even walk outside the cities with out potentially falling prey to madmen or sleeping weapons, or worse. The old ruins and installations scattered all over the world are all potential lairs of horrors.

The majority of the population is living in cities, or ruins of old cities. The life expediency of anyone living outside the cities is not even a year. The rest of the world, the so called outside world, is split into yellow zones and red zones. The administration tries to clean out the old threat but judging by the death toll the efforts seem to be counter productive and more symbolic and political then anything. In ages past people earned for our current state where you can just walk outside 'the village' and fight monsters; the relics of the technologies lost in the war, such as nanotech and and the abominations of bioengineering. They would write about them in fairy tails and create games about them. In these stories heroes would rise up and fight, but in our age heroes seem to be nowhere in sight, and whatever heroic acts have been recorded from the war are more acts of self preservation and desperation. One has to wonder what would our ancestors think of us now if they only knew. What—"

"Ahem! … are you done reading that piece of trivia yet?" said Kou with a bored look and taping his finger on the table.
"Ah. Mr Kurou, my sincerest apologies. It would appear I have had completely forgotten about your existence." said Isolde
"Is that so. Then I'll be going." Kou lifts up and moves towards the entrance.
"No, please wait. Unfortunately, I am obligated to have a talk with you."
"Obligated?" Kou looks at the broken window and the library on the right
Isolde puts the book down and grabs a cup of tea, "Yes, obligated. Would you like some tea?"

Kou ignores her, and just heads to the nearby bookshelf. The top row is littered with archives of the war.

"Ahem. Well, first let me introduce myself—"
Kou quickly interrupts, "(sigh) I know who you are. You're the librarian. I wouldn't have come here if you weren't, so get to the point."
"Actually, while I am the librarian, I am also the student council president; well more like the student council, since there's nobody else besides me."
"Um— so?"
"I'm afraid you don't completely comprehend the situation. I am responsible for student problems, and problem makers."
"So."
"Well, it happens you're caught my interest. I've received some complaints, and require some explanations."
"About me? And you just received complaints now, you know I came here ages ago, you should check your mail more often."
"Unfortunately, these complaints are straight from the city guard." Isolde pours herself more tea. "You may sit down, and talk to me, or you can talk to them. I leave the choice to you Mr. Kurou."

Kou pauses for a moment, but then goes back and sits on the sofa.

"Before we get started, are you sure you don't want some tea. I can have Walter bring you any flavor you wish in no time." said Isolde
"I thought you said you were alone."
"And I am. Walter is a robot servant—of sorts." said Isolde
"Well, time is passing us by, so I'll jump to the point. Several weeks ago, three to be exact, you were called to Sir Rei Katashi's office. Since that day you have not made any other contact outside of class that anyone is aware of. Is this true?"
"Maybe." said Kou
Isolde pauses a moment looking at Kou, she then takes her teacup up again and continues "I know you were asked to follow the girl Mao. I need you to tell me everything that's happened in those three weeks, starting at the beginning."

Kou paused and appeared reluctant.

Isolde starts tapping the phone with her left hand. "Mr Kurou…please."
"(sigh) Very well. Have your butler, robot, whatnot prepare you more tea, …you'll be here for a while."

Whew finally managed to read them all. Carry the Dying King and Decisions were the most accessible, but I think zebra got the best of the theme; albeit my head is still spinning from it. I'm such a simpleton. Oh and I don't really get Mario's entry. But I think that's intentional with his.